I was beyond exhausted and couldn’t see the way. My brother told me, as the rain slapped our faces, we’re almost there. It didn’t matter. All I kept thinking was, you could teleport a solution yesterday! Why does it always have to be like this?

We were following behind him in the truck; not much different than a You Haul. Like always, I’d given my power away to a driver who didn’t deserve it. Fear strapped me into a seated position while I grasped at desperation and the ‘oh shit’ bar of doubt above my head. The wind was so gusty it blew the mattress off the roof twice before we even got to Lincoln. We pulled over each time to run after the bungee cords and tarp. More than once I thought, We’ll never make it. There’s still an ocean of unwelcoming small towns with winding, pitted roads and unkind faces to get through. Who knows what kind of weather will be waiting for us in the Notch. But the destination just had to be that border town between everything and nothing.

Naturally there were trials from the first re-strapping straight through to the foothills of the Presidential Range. They take at least one life every season, usually due to the fever that forces men to push themselves beyond the limits of their own flesh. We can tell the gods we’re mortal all we want, but some earthly thing is either bound to consume us or else we defeat it with the last ounce of our good will. In which case, we’re nothing more than a cosmic science project destined to explode at precisely the wrong time.

I had to pee so bad but was not about to squat in the middle of 495 like I was forced to do that one time we were stuck in gridlock after the Phish show. Mary held a towel across the back of me while I cringed behind the back passenger door which was swung open. Traffic hadn’t moved in over an hour but I was having a bout of the worst stage fright. Finally, through some merciful intervention, I let go, all over the highway. The pain was so awful it’s become a marker of tolerance ever since. On this particular trip, for instance, I knew I had at least another hour, maybe two, before my internal organs imploded. Dear God, is this your idea of taking a piss?! We’re not amused.

Two hours in the spirit world can be days, weeks, months, years, lifetimes. I wish it didn’t mean we had to endure forty some odd years of obscurity for the possibility of one day of earthly relief before sailing off into the proverbial western sunset, but maybe that’s as good as it gets.

In real life we arrived at my brother’s house a few (minerly) miserable hours later, all in one piece. By that point I was no longer hungry, angry, lonely or tired. Essentially I felt nothing, except maybe a wisp of joy for whatever it is we’re supposed to feel when people buy a home. I might’ve even cried a little. You see, I love my brothers more than anything and always wanted them to have all there is to have here. I feel the same about my sisters.

After helping him unload, I started back on a long road to some unknown, possibly final destination. We’re not there yet.

“Don’t let this throw you. You trust God, don’t you? Trust me. There’s plenty of room for you in my Father’s home. If that weren’t true, would I have told you I’m on my way to get a room ready for you? And if I’m on my way to get your room ready, I’ll come back and get you so you can live where I live. And you already know the road I’m taking.”-John 14


ps: I’m tired. Sweet dreams.

pps: I hope it’s a Sheraton. They have the most comfortable beds.

2 thoughts on “The Road Home

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